Priscilla Masters: Frozen Charlotte

The receptionist leaned over to peer over Lucy’s shoulder. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t registered here. Maybe she’s waiting for someone. She doesn’t look like a down-and-out.’

That was when Lucy started to feel just a little uneasy. ‘The cubicles are empty,’ she observed. ‘The weather’s keeping most sensible people indoors.’ She pushed open the door into the waiting area. ‘I’d better find out what she’s doing here.’

She threaded her way through the rows of now-empty chairs. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m Staff Nurse Lucy Ramshaw. Can I help you?’

The woman looked up, a polite, questioning smile on her face.

It seemed a slightly odd, inappropriate expression so Lucy sat down beside her. ‘Have you been here a while?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry if you have. We’ve been really busy.’

The woman seemed to understand, even to sympathize. She put a hand out and touched Lucy’s arm. ‘It’s all right,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘I’m in no hurry.’

‘Are you waiting for someone?’

The woman shook her head.

‘Do you need medical attention?’

The woman appeared not to understand her. She looked confused. Stared at the nurse, her face frowning as if trying to comprehend. She said nothing. Her lips didn’t even move to begin to form a reply.

Lucy felt further prickings of disquiet as she glanced at the woollen bundle in the woman’s arms. ‘Is that a baby?’ she asked sharply.

The woman’s eyes dropped sentimentally to the contents of the pink blanket.

Fuck, Lucy thought. Babies were meant to be seen by a medical person within half an hour of arrival. This woman had probably sat here for hours.

‘Is it the baby who needs seeing?’

At last there was a vocal response. ‘Yes, yes,’ the woman said, still in a soft, polite, rather formal voice. ‘I thought I’d better bring Poppy here.’

‘But you haven’t registered her.’

The woman stared back, again without responding to this statement. Lucy was torn. This promised to be ‘an incident’. A baby who needed medical attention had not been registered at the desk and therefore had been ignored for what could have been hours. She didn’t want to leave this loose end for the night shift to sort out but she was dog-tired. She wanted to go home and this woman seemed strange. They always took the longest to sort out. Already she was wondering who the duty psychiatric social worker was.

‘If you or your baby needed to be seen by a doctor or a nurse you really should have registered at the front desk otherwise how would we know you were here?’

The woman thought about it and then apologized. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ She looked around her. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place like this.’

‘There are notices – everywhere. That’s why you’ve ended up waiting for so long.’ Lucy tried out a smile. ‘We always try and see babies really quickly.’

The woman’s eyes were wide open, somewhere between grey and hazel with dilated pupils. They remained focussed on a spot behind Lucy rather than on the nurse herself, but there seemed no real comprehension behind them. No reason, no intelligent thought. They were blank, curiously devoid of emotion. Yet she had brought an ailing baby to a hospital and sat for hours without being dealt with. It made no sense.

Something clicked in Lucy’s mind. A premonition, some panic, some warning that here everything was even farther from the norm than she had first realized.

‘Can I take a look at Poppy?’ Lucy put out a hand to draw the shawl away from the child’s face but without warning the woman’s expression changed. She glared at the nurse with unmistakable hostility, clutching the bundle tighter to her breast, fastening her arms around it and interlocking the fingers so Lucy couldn’t grab at it. She thought quickly. The woman appeared in her early forties. She was around five feet four and probably weighed around ten stone. She was not going to be able to take the baby forcibly from her. Lucy glanced at the adjacent chairs for clues as to the woman’s character but could not see a handbag, purse, mobile phone or car keys. Possibly they were in the pocket of her fleece.

She sat and waited, still making observations. The woman was wearing little make-up, a smear of lipstick, some mascara. That was all. She had a good complexion and her hair, though sprouting a few grey hairs, was short and professionally cut. She was wearing little jewellery except a platinum wedding ring, pearl studs in her ears and a gold watch. And rather incongruously, almost hippy-like, purple glass beads around her right wrist.

Again Lucy tried to lean over to take a peek at the baby. Just to check it was all right but the woman responded by leaning back and tucking the blanket even more firmly around ‘Poppy’.

Lucy glanced up at the clock. A quarter to eleven. She should have gone fifteen minutes ago. Inwardly she sighed. She couldn’t go home and leave this mess. She must keep trying. ‘What’s your name?’

A drip of saliva appeared in the corner of the woman’s mouth. She loosened her hold on the infant to wipe it away. ‘Alice,’ she said. ‘Alice Sedgewick. Mrs.’

‘OK, Mrs Sedgewick.’ Lucy gave one of her bright smiles. ‘You know you’re in a hospital, don’t you? In Shrewsbury.’

Alice Sedgewick nodded. ‘I thought it was the right place to bring Poppy,’ she explained.

Oh, bugger!’ Lucy thought again. She’s been here for ages. No one took care of her. We all left her. We didn’t notice her because she was sitting in the corner, quiet. And now?

The feeling was creeping down her spine, like an icicle. In the ten to fifteen minutes since she had noticed the woman she had not heard the child cry. Neither had she seen it move. No stretch or yawn, whimper or grunt. From the bundle of pink blanket she had seen absolutely no sign of movement. No sign of life. Again she looked around her. There was no nappy bag nearby with a bottle or change of clothes, none of the paraphernalia that surrounds a live infant.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, ‘that you’ve had to wait, Mrs Sedgewick. We’ll see Poppy now. This very minute.’

Alice looked straight into Lucy’s eyes and touched her arm timidly. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. We didn’t mind waiting. There’s really no hurry, you see.’ She gave a bright smile and spoke down, to the baby, this time. ‘We can wait all night if need be, can’t we, Poppy?’

From the bundle there was no response.

Lucy felt a real chill now. But she could not simply grab the baby. It was not allowed. She must persuade this Alice Sedgewick to hand the child over voluntarily. And to do that she must gain the woman’s trust. Somehow.

She glanced at the clock again. Ten fifty.

‘How old is Poppy, Mrs Sedgewick?’

Alice shrugged. ‘I don’t really know exactly,’ she said.

Lucy felt sick now. ‘She’s not your baby then?’

Tears appeared in the woman’s eyes. ‘Not my baby?’ Her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Not my baby? How can you say that? It’s not true. I look after her. I love her. She’s mine. She has to be mine. Who else’s could she be?’

Lucy felt a further sinking feeling. It was an abduction. They’d had one of those last year from the post natal ward and the police had kept the staff on tenterhooks, interviewing, re-interviewing, interviewing again. They had all felt guiltily responsible and the hospital had spent months running an enquiry and finally tightening up on the security arrangements in all areas where babies and children were treated. It had upset and unsettled them all and writing statements had taken up a lot of time. Time they simply didn’t have. Particularly her. Not just before the wedding.